Judas

The Harshest Conditions

Justin's POV

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Spending the night with Ethan was the biggest mistake I'd ever made. And when I consider my life for the last two years, that's saying a hell of a lot. I really thought it was a good idea at the time. It was my way of moving forward and closing the door on the past. I thought it would make things better for me and for us. We would sleep in each other's arms and watch the sunrise together. I wanted to feel closer to him. I thought it would help me make a real commitment to him. Boy was I wrong.

Perhaps I should have warned Ethan that I'm not exactly a morning person. I don't wake up easily or well. I know Ethan was trying to be romantic, kissing me awake before the sun rose. But I'd never actually slept with anyone but Brian. So I don't think it was too surprising that I mumbled for "Brian" to let me sleep a little longer. It was dark; I was still in that hazy world where you're not quite sure what is a dream and what is reality. But I felt the body next to me freeze, and I don't think I've ever woken up faster in my life. I pretended to fall back asleep, and a few minutes later, Ethan called my name to wake me up. I don't know if he realized I knew what I said. He never brought it up, and it just hung in the air between us. We watched the sunrise in silence. I hated the doubt and suspicion I saw in his eyes, but I didn't know what to say. I knew then in my heart I wasn't ready.

I should have ended things that morning, but I'm nothing if not stubborn. It seemed so important to make my relationship with Ethan work, and at the time, I still believed I could. Maybe I wanted to prove that I hadn't left Brian for nothing, that what Ethan gave me was worth something. Maybe I wasn't ready to give up on being with someone who actually wanted me. I don't know. All I do know, is that it took two weeks of hell for me to admit that it was never going to work.

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Ethan changed completely after that night. He had always been kind of clingy. He wanted to see me every day, and he never wanted to go anywhere. He said he liked to be alone with me. But he became extremely possessive. He really started pushing for me to move in with him. The more I said no, the more he insisted. He wouldn't accept my reasons. If I said I wanted to take things slow, he said I was stalling because I didn't really care about him. If I said I wasn't ready, he said I wouldn't know unless I tried. If I said we needed to get to know each other better, he said we needed to spend more time together. It didn't help that I wouldn't spend the night again. That gave us something else to argue about. I made sure I never brought anything with me so I had the excuse that something I needed for school was at Deb's. After a few days, I stopped saying anything. I'd just slip my clothes on and would leave without more than a goodbye.

Ethan also started keeping tabs on me during the day. He'd stop by the diner three or four times during my shift. He never ordered anything; he just came in to check on me. He would call me between classes and show up during my breaks. It was like he needed to know where I was every minute. I didn't know what to make of it. Except for right after the bashing, Brian never worried about what I was doing or where I was. Suddenly I had someone keeping track of my every move. When I saw him at night, he would quiz me on the five minutes a day he didn't now where I was. When I accused him of not trusting me, he got all offended and said he just wanted to share everything in my life with me. Sadly, I already knew not to believe things like that. I knew he really wanted to make sure I wasn't still seeing Brian, whose name we had yet to mention.

Handling Ethan turned out to be fairly easy. I'd keep the information I gave him about my day basic and simple. There truly wasn't much to tell. I'd smile and nod in all the right places and then steer the conversation to him. Ethan liked to talk about himself. If all else failed, a few well-timed kisses were a good distraction. Then on the way home or when I was trying to fall asleep, I'd imagine fifty ways to tell him to get the fuck off my back. I'd tell him to stop being so God damn insecure and let me fucking breathe. I'd tell him that I left the most amazing man I'd ever met to be with him and that should count for something. I'd tell him that I had been drawn to his passion and laughter and understanding, and he was letting his need to control me destroy all those things. I'd tell him that by holding on so tightly, he was losing me inch by inch. Of course, I told him all these things when I was alone.

These mental conversations didn't start with Ethan. I'd been having them for years. Let's face reality, neither my parents or Brian were interested in emotional honesty. And I always had something to tell them that they didn't want to hear. For years, I imagined different ways of telling my parents I was gay. None of them came to be. Mom figured it out on her own, and then she told Dad. But that gave me a new challenge. I'd lay a wake at night in the weeks before I moved in with Brian and craft these perfect arguments to make my father accept me. I'd convince him that nothing was different because he knew I was gay. I'd make him see he could still love me. In the hospital, waiting for the meds to kick in, I'd confront him about not coming to see me. I'd ask him what kind of father abandons his child after he's almost killed. I'd let him know that he destroyed whatever scrap of love I'd had left for him. I'd tell him exactly what he lost. Then I'd make sure he understood he could never hurt me again.

And Brian, there were hundreds of things I wanted to say to Brian but never did. Namely, I love you. He was never ready to hear those words. I regret more than anything not saying them to him. But there were other things. After the bashing, when I woke up after a nightmare, he'd hold me. Which was wonderful, but if I tried to tell him about the dream he'd always stop me. He'd tell me not to think about it which translated into him telling me not to talk about. Some nights I wanted to scream at him. Was I supposed to not think about it like he didn't think about it? What a joke. I saw it in his eyes every time he looked at me. It was all he thought about. Sometimes it made him hold me closer, but sometimes it made him pull away. But I never said any of that. Instead, I'd close my eyes and try to fall asleep in his arms. And of course the last few weeks we were together, it seemed like the only conversations I had with Brian were in my head. Then I could tell him how I felt. I could explain to him why I needed him to say that I mattered to him. I could make him understand why the words meant so much. I failed miserably when I actually had the chance to tell him.

I learned a long time ago that in never quite works in person. Somehow the words that sound so perfect in my head come out of my mouth garbled and wrong and too fast. Maybe it's because I put all my emotion into my art, that the words I say seem so ineffectual and meaningless. I should try drawing people pictures to explain these things. OK, so drawing my father a picture to show I was gay would probably have been worse then telling him. Especially if I put Brian in it. But something has to work better than words.

It is so frustrating to know exactly what you want to say and how you want to say it, but when the time comes you screw it. Honestly, I stopped trying. I vent my feelings in my imaginary conversations and figure that will have to be good enough. They probably work because no one else really gets to talk. I write the script so I get all the lines. The other person is there to listen. And I mean really listen to me. And I make perfect sense every time.

On very rare occasions if I'm pushed hard enough, I can actually say what I want to. The key is not thinking about it. It worked the time my father threatened to send me to boarding school. I don't think he ever recovered from hearing me call myself his queer son. And I did it when Brian came after me at Babylon, and we set up our rules. The rules turned out to be a disaster, but the point was I stood my ground and told Brian what I wanted. Today was one of those days. Ethan stated the minute I walked into the apartment.

"Where were you?" he asked in a really accusatory tone.

"At work, I came here right after my shift," he'd seen me twice at the diner so I didn't know where this was coming from.

"Don't lie to me! I was there an hour ago; you weren't there. That woman was no help at all. She wouldn't tell me where you went."

I knew by "that woman" he meant Debbie. She had been supportive of my relationship with Ethan in the beginning, but she hadn't like how possessive he'd gotten. And since he was always rude, she gave it right back to him. I think the way he kept calling her "that woman" finally pushed me over the edge. Instead of explaining that he must have been there when I'd run to the store for the cook, I looked him right in the eye and said, "You must have stopped by while I was in the bathroom sucking Brian's dick."

In other circumstances, the look on his face would have been comical. He sputtered for a few minutes before finding his voice. "I knew you couldn't stay away from him. I never should have trusted you. I heard the rumors, but I ignored them. You'll always chase after him. You are such a..."

"Don't," I stopped him right there. I knew where he was going, and I wasn't going to listen. "The fact that you would actually believe that is so beyond me. I haven't seen or spoken to Brian since I left the party with you. I've barely even thought about him. He isn't the problem here; you are. I am so tired of you checking up on me every five minutes and all your constant questioning. I've had enough."

"But it's only because I love you. I just want to be with you."

"If this is your version of love, I'm not interested. This is never going to work Ethan. I don't love you. I thought I could, but I can't. And you don't love me either. You want someone to worship you, to hang on your every word, and be content to just be by your side. That's not love, and that person is never going to be me. Goodbye Ethan." With that, I turned around and walked out the door.

So it's over. My big romance lasted all of six weeks. I should feel sad, but I don't. I'm glad I finally told Ethan how I feel. The words didn't come out perfectly and there was a lot more I wanted to say, but I think he got the point. I don't think I'll ever talk to him again, in person or in my head. And that's OK. Ethan turned out to be way more trouble than he was worth. The last two weeks have been horrible. I was always so tense, trying not to say the wrong thing, trying not to rock the boat. But no more. Mostly, I'm relieved. I finally feel free.

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